Twenty-Six #2
She nods.
“What did she say?” I press, eager to understand how things went south between them. What triggered Jenna to protect herself? Was it as simple as the implied danger from being recognized, or was there more?
She sighs, snagging one of the napkins. Jenna blows her nose, then fidgets with the crumpled paper. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“Was there any point to you opening a wound if you didn’t intend to bleed out the rot?” I tilt my head to look her in the eye.
She peers up at me through wet lashes.
“What was she like, Freckles?”
“Mean.” She huffs a small sound of amusement. “There’s probably a better word for it, but that was the sum of it.”
“How did she recognize you?” If her mother kept Jenna separate most of her life, then how did this woman know?
“She frequented a shop I worked at for a little while.” Jenna dabs at her nose again. “Saw me talk with Dad one day after my shift, not long before Mom died.”
“How did you recognize her?”
She rolls the quilt on her lap. “Mary-Beth’s the kind of woman who’s hard to forget.
She was just as loud and mouthy in the street as she was in that basement.
I overheard her talking a few times about the club, and how much of an asshole her father is.
Plus,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder with a thumb.
“She wore the associate patch, so it wasn’t hard to know which club she meant. ”
“And she told you that she’d seen you with your dad?” I grab the clean paper napkin and use the corner to wipe the remaining moisture from the swell of her cheekbones.
She studies me the whole time I do, gentle breath tickling my cheek.
“It was the fifth night we were there,” Jenna says once I lean back again.
“Two nights before you showed up. Most of the others were asleep.” She hesitates, looking away as she studies the memorabilia and ephemera hanging on the timber walls.
“She’d watched me for a few days, always listening when I spoke and eyes on me with everything I did.
She flat out asked me if it was true—if he was my father. ”
“You could have lied.”
Her mouth curls a little. “I knew by the look in her eyes she didn’t need my answer.”
“Then what?” I lean in again, elbows to my knees, invested.
“She told the keeper who came in to check on us the next day that she had information. She wanted to strike a deal.” Jenna studies the scrunched paper in her hands. “I knew what she was going to say.” Her brow pinches. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“You thought she’d tell who your father is.”
“Exactly.” She draws a deep breath. “It would have been enough for her to bargain freedom—drugs maybe—Smoke knowing he had me.” Her throat bobs, fingers clenching tighter.
“I confronted her after everyone had gone to sleep again, and she said anyone would do the same. She was set on using me as her golden ticket. Next thing I remember, I was pushing her head into the ground, and she wasn’t making noise anymore. ” A shaky breath fills her lungs.
“But you came out of it unharmed?” Did Mary-Beth even fight back? Or did Jenna ambush her?
“Look closer.” She leans in, tilting her head to the left to gesture to her neck.
At first all I see is the ink of her tattoo, but the longer I study the floral pattern, the more I see it between the shading—redness. “She tried to choke you?”
“Hit me a few times, too.” Jenna lifts my sweater and the T-shirt underneath, revealing bruising on her side.
“How the fuck did nobody else notice what was going on?” Surely that kind of ruckus would wake the others.
“I think they drugged the water they gave us in the afternoon.” She covers herself again and then sets the blanket over her bare feet and legs. “I noticed Mary-Beth didn’t drink it the two nights before, so I didn’t either that last time.”
Fuck me. Makes sense, though. Ensured none of them would try to escape during the quiet hours.
I straighten on the stump and lean back to study her some.
Although this doesn’t change anything from what we already knew, it sure sheds a whole new light on it.
Would I have done it in her position? If I were held captive and recognized by a rival club member, would I kill to protect my identity and safety? Of course I would.
So how can I negatively judge her for doing the same?
Simple. I don’t.
“I was so stupid,” Jenna says, drawing me from my thoughts, distress entering her weakened words again. “So fucking naive to think my dad was right.”
“You did the best with what you knew at the time.” A mantra I tell myself often.
“It wasn’t hard to know better.” She stares me in the eye, imploring me to agree.
“I grew up knowing who my father was, seeing his club around town. I grew up seeing my parents fight the few times they did cross paths. I grew up with strange people near our house. With my mom sneaking out in the middle of the night when she thought I was asleep and coming home distraught. Or getting home from work before her shift ended without her uniform anymore. I knew,” Jenna says, holding a fist to her heart.
“I saw it all right in front of me, and I thought I was smarter. I thought my father could do better. Be better.”
And don’t I understand that—the moral obligation to an immoral parent. The desire for them to be who you wish they were, not who they really are. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Really?” she scoffs. “Because I didn’t see anyone with a gun to my head when I walked into that roadhouse. I didn’t see anyone there holding my arm behind my back when I killed Mary-Beth. I think this is nothing but my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” I growl, grasping her wrists.
“People make all sorts of bad decisions when under duress. Do you blame a beaten woman for staying? A soldier for killing an innocent man simply because he wears a different uniform? Because both of those scenarios aren’t so different from yours.
Desperate hours call for desperate action. ”
She’s stiff in my grasp, but she doesn’t try to pull away. “I’m not a good person, Fang.”
“Guess what, Freckles. Neither am I.”